Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

Below in the belfry, Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse heaved and tugged furiously on the bellropes, their

paws leaving the floor at each recoil.

Bongdingboomclangbangbong!!!

Ironbeak was last to leave the roof. He tried calling to his warriors, but his voice was lost in the clanging

melee. With his head resounding to the metallic cacophony through to his very beaktip, the raven flapped

off heavily into the air.

John Churchmouse clapped Ambrose upon the back.

“That’ll teach ’em to laugh at our army, eh, my old Spike!”

Constance opened the Abbey door. “Come on inside, I’m closing the door now, I hope we gave

Foremole and his crew time to set their surprise up.”

With his head still ringing from the bells, Ironbeak flew under the eaves to the roofspace in a black rage.

“Mangiz, take four with you and see if you can pick up any lone stragglers outside. The rest of you

follow me. Get that roof trapdoor open quickly. We’ll fly inside to the upper gallery and beat them to the

stairs.”

“Beat what chairs, Chief?”

The crow had not recovered his hearing properly. Ironbeak buffeted him flat with a hefty wing blow.

“I said ‘beat them to the stairs,’ antbrain. Now get that trapdoor up and follow me.”

Halfway across Great Hall, Abbot Mordalfus bumped into Constance. The badger glanced up.

“Dust!” she exclaimed. “They’re opening up the ceiling trapdoor. Quick, clear the Hall. Let’s get

upstairs. By the way, Abbot, well done with the bells.”

As they pounded up the stairs, the Abbot called to Constance. “I thought the bells were your idea. I

knew nothing of it until I heard them ringing.”

“Well, whoever it was, they struck just the right note, hahaha.”

Both parties reached the barricade area at virtually the same time. The Redwallers stopped behind the

barricade. Ironbeak could not fly on the spiral stairwell, so he came hop-skipping round the stairs in front

of his fighters and hit the first tripwire.

Unable to stop himself and being jostled from behind, he injured his dignity and his bottom by trying to

pull back and slipping heavily upon the grease. It was utter confusion, feathers, beaks, claws and wings

massed in an insane jumble as the warrior birds tried to stay upright on the curving stairway. They

slithered and bumped, slid and collided, slipped and cracked wings, talons and heads together. Black slimy

grease pounded into a gritty porridge and the stonedust was everywhere. Each time a bird tried to regain

its balance the situation worsened.

“ Yggah , leggo, you’re pulling me over!”

“Gerroff, you’re all slimy … whoops!”

“ Yakkarr! You’re breakin’ me wing!”

“Get your greasy claws off me. Take that!”

“Yugg, muy beaksh fulluv greash!”

On the other side of the barrier, the Redwallers danced with glee. They imitated the scorn the birds had

heaped on them from the bell tower roof.

“Cawhawhaw, what a bunch of ninnies!”

“What’s the matter, can’t you stand on your own two legs!”

“I’ll say he can’t, his pal’s standing on them for him. Ha ha!”

“Ho ho! Come and get us, we’re over here, it’s not far to walk.”

“Yurr, ’ello, greasybeak, ’ow do you loik a taste o’ molegrease?” Foremole waved a sharp knife aloft.

“Geddown flat naow, gennelbeasts, yurr she goo’s!”

He severed the catapult rope with a single slash.

Chaos was added to confusion.

The huge slingload shot forward, flattening birds who were trying to stand. Rocks, soil and rotting

vegetable matter pounded in a torrent upon the floundering birds. The evil-smelling compound enveloped

them.

Completely defeated, the birds slithered messily up the stairwell. Ironbeak tried to spit the evil

concoction out as he thudded and bumped his way up, sometimes slipping back a stair, often falling

heavily against the walls. All around him his warriors suffered the same predicament. Floundering, cursing

and skidding, they beat an ignominious retreat, with the laughter of the Redwallers ringing in their heads.

“Hahaha, wash that little lot off.”

“Hope you’ve got a birdbath up there, hohoho!”

“Heeheehee, I suspect foul play!”

Ironbeak supported himself against the wall.

“ Yaggah! You’ve signed your death warrants,” he threatened. “The moment you set paw outside, we’ll

be waiting on the rooftops. You will be slain without mercy.”

“Yah, go and boil your beak, General Pongo!”

It was a long hot day in the crowded trench. The sun’s rays baked through the covering of boughs as slaves

and slavers alike tossed and turned in the cramped conditions. Only Stonefleck sat calm and motionless.

Slagar wiped his paw round under the silken face mask.

“If it gets any hotter, we’ll roast. Maybe we should have tried to cross the river before dawn, eh, rat?”

“You would have been caught out on the open water in daylight. That means death.”

Slagar scratched moodily in the sandy soil. “Your mob had better be ready as soon as the sun sets.”

Stonefleck’s expression did not change. “They will be.”

Mattimeo moved restlessly in his sleep. Dreams of the dark forest they had left echoed through his mind.

Matthias and his friends ate as they marched across the plateau with the shrews. Log-a-Log pointed out the

slavers’ tracks.

“Nice and clear, still travelling due south.”

Orlando’s face was grim. “Aye, the fox didn’t suppose we’d be following him.”

Basil shaded his eyes. “I say, that looks like a gloomy old forest we’re heading towards. Any more

shrewcake left?”

Jess absentmindedly passed him one. “It’s a pine wood. I don’t like the look of it.”

“Nor do I,” Jabez Stump agreed. “Just a feelin’ in my spikes, I s’pose, but it looks as if it’s sittin’ there a-

waitin’ for us.”

Cheek laughed nervously. “Ha ha, old doom’n’gloom. Funny, I haven’t got a feelin’ in my spikes.

Maybe ’cos I don’t have any.”

Basil slapped him heartily on the back. “That’s the spirit, Cheek m’boy. Chin in, chest out, good straight

back and a stiff upper lip, wot. Look out, pine trees, here we come!” The woods looked deceptively close.

Even though they stepped out briskly, it was past noon when the party arrived at the beginning of the pine

fringe.

Log-a-Log called for cooks to make a meal. “We’ll eat and rest awhile here, because we won’t be

stopping once we get among those trees; we’ll do a straight march through until we’re clear of them. Is that

all right with you, Matthias?”

“Good idea, Log-a-Log. A rest and some food will set us up nicely and we’ll be fresh for the march.”

A short while later they formed up into close marching order. Weapons at the ready, they set off into the

trees with Log-a-Log and Matthias up front, while Orlando and Basil guarded the rear. The first thing that

struck them was the absence of daylight filtering through the thick foliage of the close-growing pines, then

the complete, awesome silence of the place.

“No use trying to look for tracks among these thick pine needles on the ground. And that strong scent

from the trees blocks out everything.” Log-a-Log’s voice was muted and hollow.

“Waaah! Look, up there!”

Log-a-Log grabbed the wide-eyed shrew who had called out.

“What are you shouting about?”

“Skeletons, bones. Can’t you see them hanging in the trees? It’s a warning. We’d better go back!”